The Ransom (15 page)

Some time during the night, Boris had brought her a slice of cold, dried-up pizza and a small cupful of water. She’d swallowed the water greedily and had quietly asked for more. When he refused, she pleaded with him to free her, but he’d merely shaken his head. No amount of tears or pleading had budged him.

She’d been pathetically grateful when, earlier that morning, he’d allowed her another cupful of water and an opportunity to use the bathroom. He’d untied the bindings around her wrists and had stood careful watch while she used the toilet. Her wrists were so sore and she burned with embarrassment, but her relief at being able to pee, quickly overcame her humiliation.

She hoped his thoughtfulness reflected a softer spot in his character, but he dashed any such notions when he told her she was more valuable to him alive than dead and besides, he didn’t want to risk her messing up the back seat of his car.

The knowledge that he wasn’t going to kill her had given her spirits a lift. Even the excruciating pain in her arms and wrists as the blood flow had been gradually restored hadn’t dampened them. But all too soon, the bathroom visit had ended and Boris had once again secured her hands. Now, bouncing up and down on the back seat of his car, she did her best to remain positive. They were on the move. Boris had refused to tell her where he was taking her, but she hoped it was somewhere closer to other people. Perhaps if she screamed loud enough someone would hear her. She tried to peer through the blindfold, but the thick cloth made vision impossible. She bit her lip against a surge of desperation and pain shot through her mouth.

She didn’t know what time it was, but the sun had been hot on her face when Boris dragged her out of the house. The man in question turned on the radio and began to sing tunelessly along. The sound of it grated on her nerves, but she stilled when she realized a news bulletin had come on.

Straining to listen over the sound of the engine, she prayed for mention of her name. There was an emergency on the Harbour Bridge. A car had caught fire. All of the southbound lanes were closed.

A gang of youths held up a bank in the city and had been arrested shortly afterwards. The latest poll showed the embattled Prime Minister was gaining ground. Then the sports stories rolled and Olivia’s shoulders slumped in despair
.

Her daddy didn’t know.
It was the only conclusion she could draw. Either that, or he didn’t care
…

No!
She immediately discounted that possibility. Her father would be worried out of his mind. She was his sunshine. For as long as she could remember, he’d told her that. Now that she was older, his open affection for her often left her embarrassed. She’d turn her face away and pretend she hadn’t heard. It was even worse when he called her that in front of her friends. But now, not knowing how much longer she’d be held captive—scared and hungry and tired—she would have given anything to hear her name on his lips. Right now, she’d even be glad to hear from Ellie.

She sighed. At least she now knew the time. The newsreader had announced the eleven o’clock news. She’d been missing for more than a day. All of a sudden, the pressure behind her eyes became unbearable. She tried to hold the hot tears back, but they fell anyway. They came slowly at first, streaming down her cheeks, but within moments, they gained momentum and soon, uncontrollable sobs echoed in her ears. She cried like she’d never be able to stop. Even scarier was the thought that she didn’t think she’d want to.

The vehicle swerved onto the shoulder of the road and lurched to a sudden halt. Olivia’s stomach lurched with it. Her heart pounded. She strained to listen for the slightest noise that might indicate where they were, but all she could hear was the sound of her blood pumping hard and loud in her ears.

The passenger door opened. Something cold and hard was pressed against her forehead.

“Shut the fuck up, little girl, before I blow your fuckin’ head off. I’ve had about enough of your blubberin’. Draco’s wiped his hands of you. He’s given you over to me. That means
I
get to call the shots.
I
get to say who lives and dies.” He shoved the gun harder against her skin and she whimpered in terror against the gag. “Do you understand me?”

The last was yelled only inches from her ear and she nodded in panicked agreement. This Boris was a different Boris to the man who’d watched over her the past night and day. This man sounded fearful and unsure and scarily out of control. This Boris was even more terrifying than before.

She gasped with relief when she felt him move away. A second later, he hit her with something hard. Pain seared through her head. Her cry was muffled. Her chest was tight. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t… Blackness descended.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sunday, January 28, 11:18 a.m.

Zara made it to the side of the dilapidated house without detection and paused to catch her breath. She could hardly hear a thing over the pounding of her heart. Much to her relief, the windows along the side of the house were also secured with boards. Stepping with care, she picked her way around the back.

Dry, yellowed grass up to her chest almost concealed the charred remains of a car a few yards from the back steps. Zara stared dubiously at the battered wooden porch and wondered if it would hold her weight. She stilled and cocked her head to listen, straining to hear whether the house was occupied.

If it were the Redbacks’ hidey-hole and Olivia was inside, it was likely her captor would either have a companion, or at the very least, a television for company, but the only thing she heard was the breeze that had finally announced its presence. It picked its way through the stand of enormous gum trees fifty yards away and skimmed along the tops of the tall grass. The sound of a bird tweeting was incongruous amidst the danger of the moment but helped to ease the tension that held her shoulders stiff.

Slipping out of her sandals, she tiptoed up the steps and onto the dilapidated porch. Unlike the front windows, the two that looked out onto the backyard were not boarded, but were coated with thick dust and cobwebs. Padding closer, Zara rubbed one of them with a tissue in an effort to clean a space big enough to see through.

Meager light infiltrated the combined kitchen and living room. A table and single chair revealed themselves through the grime. Empty food cartons and beer bottles littered the table and spilled down over the floor. What had once been a television set sat up high on a wooden crate, its screen shattered. As far as she could see, the room was unoccupied.

Apart from the sounds of nature, silence continued to envelope her. The house had an air of abandonment, but her heart still skipped a beat at the thought of stepping over the threshold. She tugged at the scarf that hung loosely around her neck and tried to build up her courage. She’d come this far. She couldn’t turn back. Not without knowing whether Olivia Munro was inside.

With one hand brandishing the can of capsicum spray, she eased open the rusted screen door. It creaked in protest and she winced. Praying the sound went unnoticed, she stepped forward into the kitchen, her heart pounding.

The smell of unwashed body hit her like a solid beam. She covered her nose with her free hand and breathed through her mouth. Creeping across the room, she moved into a darkened hall and checked in both directions to ensure the way was clear. Seeing no one, she continued forward.

The first room she came to was so dim she could barely make out that it was empty and she cursed herself for not bringing a flashlight. Wooden floorboards covered with dust and the remnants of old fashioned linoleum lay bare to her gaze. Like the kitchen and living room, it was also void of people.

With her breath still tight in her throat, Zara forced her feet forward. Another room, similar in size to the previous one, adjoined the first. It too, was bare of furniture and signs of human habitation. At the end of the hall stood a room with a toilet and another that housed a bath. Small windows in each room allowed enough light that she could see they were stained with age and neglect, and both thankfully empty.

Relief eased the tension that had taken grip of her body. Her shoulders slumped like a marionette puppet whose strings were no longer taut.
The house was vacant.

Now that the danger had passed, disappointment surged through her. She leaned against the dirty wall behind her for support. She’d been so sure the house had held some relevance. Why else would her father have recorded the address next to Draco’s name? It was obviously connected to something, just not to the disappearance of Olivia Munro.

With a sigh, she pushed away from the wall and half ran down the hall, back the way she’d come. Now that it was obvious her conclusions were wrong, she wanted to get as far away from the place as possible. Striding back across the porch, she swiped at the bottom of her feet in an effort to remove the dust, tugged on her sandals and headed for her car. Unlike her approach, now she couldn’t get off the porch fast enough and made no effort leave as cautiously as and quietly she’d arrived.

* * *

Allison Dowton stared at her reflection in the mirror. For the moment, she was alone in the restrooms of the Port Douglas airport. Her plane would be boarding any minute and she needed all the time she could get to prepare herself for the upcoming confrontation with her husband. She’d already delayed her departure long enough. Telling him the only plane out yesterday was fully booked had bought her some time, but it hadn’t made the inevitable altercation disappear. There was no other choice but to return. Besides, she wanted to see her daughter. She wanted to ascertain that her baby truly was all right.

She pulled out a tube of lipstick and did her best to apply it with a hand that was never quite steady.

“Damn it,” she muttered, when she smudged the crimson gloss across her mouth. It looked like a slash of blood and her thoughts immediately returned to her daughter. Her knees went weak, like they had yesterday, when she’d been told the news. David had assured her their daughter was okay and she hoped it was true
.
She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to her baby. And she’d never forgive Draco. Anger surged through her.
Damn him for involving her family…

She swiped at the smudged lipstick and did her best to reapply the gloss, wishing she had something to help her get through the next few hours. She riffled through her handbag on the slim hope she had a tablet, a joint—anything—to dull the torture of what was to come.

Nothing.

With increasing desperation, she searched again. Again, she came up empty-handed. Tossing the handbag aside, she clutched at her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were wide, a prelude to the panic attack which lay right below the surface.
So much for the costly fortnight in rehab…

A woman walked into the restroom and glanced in her direction. Allison drew in a deep breath and forced her hands away from her face. It was all right. She could get through this. David would understand. She was sure he would. He always had in the past…

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sunday, January 28, 11:55 a.m.

Lane activated the lights and sirens on his unmarked police vehicle and floored the accelerator pedal. Adrenaline surged through him. Another round of property searches on Draco and a few of the other high-profile Redbacks, had revealed a house on the outskirts of Milperra. It was owned by the president of the Redbacks.

Draco Jovanovic had been the president for nearly a decade. Given what they knew of Boris Vukovic and his limitations, it stood to reason that Jovanovic might be involved.

Glancing into his rearview mirror, Lane counted the unmarked vehicles that streamed out behind him and fought the sensation of déjà vu. As soon as they identified the property off the State database, he’d reconvened the TRG squad and the AFP officers and planned their next raid—the house on Scarborough Road.

The rundown cottage looked sad and neglected from the roadside and was strangely reminiscent of Vukovic’s hovel they’d raided the night before. Indicating with hand signals for his team to gather close, he ran through their plan of attack as quickly as he could, mindful of the minutes ticking by.

A short time later, they had the house surrounded. It sat silent and still, but Lane was taking no chances. The Redbacks were notorious for their stockpile of illegal weapons and he wanted to ensure every member of his team came home alive.

Turning to face the men who waited silently behind him, he signaled for them to ready themselves. Moments later, he gave the order to charge.

* * *

After ensuring the house was deserted and securing the scene, Lane strode through the building and surveyed the contents. From the food scraps and empty beer bottles strewn around the kitchen, it was obvious the place had been inhabited recently. The food, whilst dry and unappetizing, hadn’t had the chance to spoil.

He stepped closer and ran his hand along one of the walls. Dark, reddish-brown marks that looked like blood spatter adorned part of the surface. He called out to one of his men and told him to get onto the forensic technicians and secure the area until they arrived.

With the powerful beam of his flashlight illuminating the way, he made his way down the hall and stopped at the first room on his left. It was small and bare of furniture and looked like it had once been a bedroom. The beam of light fell on something on the floor across the other side of the room. He strode forward and picked it up.